Drabbles!!
by Cadence
Summary: Updated! Knives-themed! Partially, at least. Too bad it sucks. Varying degrees of angst and humor (not to mention Latin grammar) in drabble form for YOUR enjoyment!
1. Every day, car trouble puts bad syntax i...

drab

**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

1. **Mirror**

It's not that I'm afraid of mirrors, I've just never seen much use for them. I had my brother.

His hair is lighter, eyes bluer, and he doesn't have that mole Meryl seems to find endearing, but everything else is identical.

And he's as cold as glass.

Now, anyway.

I should say was identical. One day I wandered away from him and Rem, exploring. I ran into Steve.

I screamed and screamed and sometimes I think the echoes in the silence hurt more than the blows themselves. He wasn't there, but it scarred us both.

We are not identical anymore.

2. **Not a Hat**  
  
He barely glanced over, "Tongari, that isn't a hat."  
  
"Thanks for the help, Wolfwood," was the partially growled response.  
  
The priest gave the situation another, longer look. He pointedly did not laugh.  
  
Wolfwood gestured vaguely, "How exactly?"  
  
Vash's eyes flashed white. _Yes_, Wolfwood confirmed to himself, _ that was definitely a growl this time._  
  
"I don't think you need to know that."  
  
Nodding amicably, the dark haired man stepped onto the table, did not laugh, and tried to get a good grip. A growl of a different sort greeted him.  
  
"Tongari! How did you get a cat stuck onto your head?"

3. ** Letters**  
  
She received a letter today. Her dark eyes lit with some emotion akin to sorrow as she saw it. The pain and love twisted the air around her, visibly hurtful. Because it was from him. Because it was from him, that emotion faded to fragile happiness.  
  
She doesn't talk about him, but she reads, softly mouthing the words to bring him closer, with irritation and affection that transcends words.  
  
It doesn't make any sense, after all this time.  
  
But it doesn't have to. After all, he's always been different. Because he's Vash the Stampede.  
  
And she won't ever forget him.

4. **Car Trouble**  
  
The strangled screams of the injured car were not a pleasant sound to hear, Meryl noted with growing annoyance. Her expectant glower, burning into the back of the man currently doing his very _ best_ to exacerbate the situation, was doing little to make her feel better.  
  
But at least it was inspiring the proper fear in him.  
  
"Really," Vash tried to placate her nervously, "I'm good with machines."  
  
If anything, her glare intensified at his statement. The car's piteous death knell did _ not_ abate.  
  
With a shaky laugh, he finished whatever repairs he'd been attempting.  
  
And then the car exploded.

5. **Syntax**

She found him lying with his back to the port, glittering sparks of stars streaming past endlessly, his eyes focused instead on the books spread before him. The scene was sweet in a way the crew didn't seem to understand, and a fond smile touched her mouth as she studied his silent intensity.

He looked up before she could speak, floppy hair shading aqua eyes that blinked curiously at her presence, "Rem Sa-ver-em. Latin meaning: I should protect this thing."

Kneeling on the deck before him, her soft smile dimmed his confusion as she whispered, "You aren't a thing, Vash."

6. ** _Every_ Day**  
  
Eyes studying the bar room floor, hands fumbling for pockets that his jumpsuit did not have, Knives mumbled an apology.  
  
Vash nearly dropped his beer as his jaw hit the floor. Staring, fingers unmindful of the foam that had sloshed onto them, he stuttered a response, "Y-you're what?!?"  
  
Ice colored eyes unusually soft, his brother repeated, "I'm sorry. For, you know, trying to destroy all humanity, and killing Rem, and making you suffer so much. You know," he shrugged, "I'm sorry."  
  
Vash blinked, "Really?"  
  
"No!" he crowed maniacally before dissolving into psychotic laughter.  
  
Vash sighed, "He does this every day."

note: The Latin is real in this. For those who are silly enough to know what this means: Rem n. - accusative singular form of res; Saverem v. - first person imperfect subjunctive of saveo. Res is actually an all purpose word, but it mostly means thing or matter. Maybe you could contrive it to mean person, but you can contrive practically any meaning in Latin if you try. Saveo, as one would suspect, means I save. And anyone who cares, probably already knows this stuff. Okay, class dismissed.

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours. 

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	2. Lying together in cashmere on Christmas ...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

7. **Lying Together**

That breath. That look, that touch she gave him - still so uncertain and so sad. It was an emotion between them, something burning with desperate intensity and limned with unbreakable fear.

He tried to silence it with kisses, to stay those glances that should have held tears with caresses.

But sometimes she turned in his arms, grey eyes searching the wall.

"I can't give you forever," she whispered.

He pressed his cheek to a bare shoulder, breathing in that painfully real moment when she was his alone in her love and anxiety.

"Don't lie to me, Meryl. You already have."

8. **Donuts&Irony**

The look they had shared was definitely panic, Vash decided sourly. Panic slipping slowly into a gleeful sort of clever malice. He should have suspected then.

It just isn't right! he lamented silently - speech impeded unhappily by one of Wolfwood's socks. What kind of priest didn't wash his socks? Damn him anyway.

But Meryl . . . she was worse. This was _her_ idea. Was forgetting his money really unforgivable?

No! he thought wildly.

Nonetheless, the gleam in Meryl's eyes had foreboded ropes. He found himself tied neatly in them on the scuffed floor of the donut shop.

Left as payment.

Irony sucks.

9. **Again**

Say it again.

His name, those brittle words you use to condemn him over and over again. That slash in that air that just hangs there in frozen desolation.

Make him wince again, make his blue-green eyes shutter themselves in wordless pain. Hurt him, bring him one step closer. It's power. It's pain. Give it to him, he asks for it. He's surrendered it to you.

It hurts him. Make him hurt! My Master commands it. For what he's done. _This_ surrender isn't all he denies.

Crush him. Make him believe! Say it again.

_ Vash the Stampede._

Say it again!!!

10. **Christmas**

Wolfwood gazed solemnly into his congregation's eyes, before drawing himself up in front of their . . . _tree_, and speaking, "If there is one lesson that the Lord our savior has taught us on this perilous road . ."

He paused a moment and the insurance girls nodded sweetly in agreement.

"It is that improvisation is next to Godliness," he drawled.

Milly clapped in anticipation and Meryl cast her a sidelong glance, before sending Wolfwood a very clear "hurry up" look.

He grinned and waved the big girl ahead.

She bounced forward and leaned up delicately to place the star on Vash's uppermost spike.

11. **Love**

The scars the reflection bore were hurtful, new red. His eyes - weary, defeated - were drawn to the artless sight again and again. The silvered glass repeated them to him.

A gift from his brother.

The bullet hole was a fascination. Other were worse; a rib had broken, compound, and the ugly scar always lured back the image - white and bloody. But the bullet hole was an act, a moment, a result.

A sin upon his shoulder.

It was desperation - his brother's.

It was beauty - forbidding - and love - finally his.

Into eyes not his brother's, Knives smiled.

12. **Cashmere**

"Sigh," Milly sighed.

Wolfwood couldn't help but agree. This kept happening. He kicked insolently and with no small amount of bitterness at the linen blanket they'd been left.

It was disgraceful. When he thought of what _they_ got . . . Well, it made him think unpriestly thoughts.

Milly yawned and stretched in a way that inspired unpriestly thoughts of an entirely different sort. He smiled and gestured to the bed, despite it's distasteful sheets, "Why don't you take a rest? I'll deal with that stupid author when she gets here."

"I can't believe she took the cashmere again," mumbled the girl sleepily.

note: Okay, I'm going address some things that don't make much sense. Again is based off the fact that Legato (er, it's from his POV if its not clear) and other assorted baddie have a severe fondness for saying Vash's name. I know this is partly due to translation-y things, but I figured why not give it more significance? Cashmere probably makes sense to approximately three people. It's a joke, albeit not a very funny one, off of the combined facts that 1) I tend to ignore main characters for the sake of Vash and Meryl and 2) the suggestion my spellchecker brings up for Vashmeryl is cashmere 3) if find #2 oddly hilarious. I know that it's not very funny. I'll do better next time. And if you have a problem with characters saying they're emoting actions when it's the written description of what they're saying, well, then you live in a far darker place than I. Hmmm, what else? Oh, yes! If anyone wants to knows, I do in fact have a mirror fetish. Love is the second time it's cropped up. It will no doubt rear its malformed head again. I like sand, too. It's neat.

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours. 

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	3. The truth revealed by the nighttime stor...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

13. ** Incident**

A shock of light sprang from the casing, bright and dangerous. Steve rechecked his readings, frowning.

"What the hell?"

Vash spared him a moment of his attention before returning his gaze - oddly ultraviolet - to the Plant. Steve grumbled - the kid thought he was superior? At the control panel, Steve tapped some adjustments, brow furrowing as the readings worsened.

"Stop it," whispered Vash, staring.

Steve ignored him - stupid kid.

"Stop it! You're," his breath was troubled, "You're hurting her!"

The metal bent beneath Steve's fingers - goddamned kid!

"YOU'RE HURTING HER!!!!" shouted Vash again, pulling at his elbow.

A backhand silenced him.

14. **The Truth Revealed!**

Knives grinned in the darkness. Vash didn't even suspect. For so long, so many iles and towns, he'd been followed. _The fool trusts too easily_, he thought affectionately, made his purpose that much easier and more enjoyable.

Sometimes he just lay there in the worn, windless night, envisioning that moment - the spark of emotion that would that would flare across his too, too pretty features. When. He. Found. Out.

Knives knew it was perfect, inhuman in its greatness. Fitting of his brother. He only hoped that black little spy would be appreciated.

He relished those words. His spy. _His_.

Kuroneko-sama.

15. **Nighttime Story**

He lay on the sand, ungelled hair blending into the ersatz-bedding The fire flickered red in the night, dodging the darkness to light their small circle. His eyes seemed unfocused, not on the sky, not on the fire like hers.

Wolf wood and Milly were asleep, unconsciously turned toward each other.

He didn't say her name, unsure of which he'd say, but the request was the same every night.

"Tell me a story."

So she moved, crossing the light to his side, and perhaps took a liberty not hers - lying down against him.

"What kind?"

"One with a happy ending."

16. **Addiction**

Watching the scene unfold in the dusty, dark alley, seeing his friend sacrifice that much more of himself, Wolfwood felt sick with guilt. Vash had sought this twisted looking man out because of him.

_ I was trying to protect him!_ He growled mentally, taking an angry draw from his cigarette.

_ Sure, the first time is free,_

Vash dug out a rather large sheaf of double-dollars.

_ but one they have you hooked . . ._

The man shined the small container before handing it over.

Wolfwood understood. He'd done the same, suffered the same.

Smiling blissfully, Vash exited the alley, new sunglasses in hand.

17. **Innocent**

In cruel red-yellow sunlight, in flickering flame, in silver starlight, in insidious fluorescent, he watched her.

She was so innocent.

Too innocent.

She slept and he watched her, a breath away. It hurt to watch her, a pain soft and straining. Her hair curved against her face, childlike strands of gold. He wanted to touch it, cut his fingertips on its shine.

He wanted to hold his cross in her presence; to grasp it and bleed purity. He wanted to know he would not ever hurt her.

She believed he wouldn't.

Believed in him.

Wolfwood smiled.

Because she was innocent.

18. **Dress Up**

Wolfwood shuddered as he watched Vash in dismay, "How can you be so casual about this?"

His friend spared him a glance and a nonchalant shrug, "You just get used to some of these things."

"But . . ." he gestured loosely to the piles of discarded clothes the legendary gunman was sorting through.

Vash sighed, not finding what he was looking for. He reflexively puffed his unspiked hair out of his eyes before crossing them to examine the lock thoughtfully, "I wonder if they have any tiaras . . ."

Wolfwood groaned. Painfully.

"Honestly, Wolfwood, I can't believe you've never had to cross dress before."

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours. 

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	4. The duality of his childish ways and sym...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

19. **Duality**

He always kissed her twice.

Once, a breath of reverence - transcendent, chaste love - brushing against burning lips. Pain in delicacy, need tragically pure.

Twice, a different desire. Passion deep as hers, enveloping - drowning. She'd die for it - wanted to die in it. Another type of purity.

Two kisses. Two moments. Two loves of sanctity - distilled from each other and twin on her lips.

The duality gleamed bitter-bright in his eyes.

But she didn't understand; a half-moment after the first, she asked why.

Unreadable, twofold, he explained, "Once for her." He kissed her, long with love. Whispered, "And once for you."

20. **Perfect Match**

"Come in farther," growled Wolfwood.

They were on the floor, Vash hovering centimeters over the prone priest.

Meryl's foot tapped with impatience, "Vash! You have to go all the way or we'll never know."

He winced at her tone, "You are _really_ ruining the mood."

Wolfwood chuckled; Meryl had finally noticed, had demanded a demonstration, but . . . "I thought this was supposed to be about discovery."

"Meryl!" Vash whined. "Any more and I'll hurt him if I move wrong!"

"I _have_ to know!"

Vash sighed, defeated, and leaned in as far as possible.

"Wow!" chirped Milly. "Their noses do fit together!"

21. **Fate**

The curved glass was sharp underneath his small, childish hand - cuttingly frosted to opacity. Under warm fingerprints icy spirals were melted into the white veneer. Penetrating cold deadened fragile nerves. Numbing.

Knives stared - fascination and whimpering fear. It was another speculative moment before he flexed stiffened fingers.

He gripped the glass, glaring at the unreflective surface. But he wasn't angry, he assured himself, and wiped the frost from the smoothness. It reflected now, showing brutally short hair.

The man inside had blind, lifeless eyes.

Knives gazed into horrible green. Dirty. Human. Not like _him_.

And smiled, "I know your fate."

22. **Fetish**

Meryl twirled in front of him slowly - smirkingly seductive. Arms veiled by gauze-y handless gloves, petite, tempting body sheathed in a shiningly short skirt, Vash was intoxicated by sight.

What she was doing was very, very wrong. Abusive. Manipulative.

She sidled up to him, tracing nails with more than faint pressure along his jaw. Eyes locked on her - on the dress, the almost-gloves - he sighed rapturously.

It was _damned_ fun.

"You won't destroy towns any more?"

The Humaniod Typhoon nodded vacantly.

_ Meryl Stryfe_ was acting coquettish.

His fetishes were _very_ handy.

A husky voice caressed her ear, "You wore _red_."

23. **Symbolism**

Before the blackness, the shimmering white, translucent clarity leached his warmth into dead - immortal? - space. His eyelashes whisked against the window, blinking away the uniformity. His blonde bangs pressed against glowing void.

"Any farther and you'll fall out," Rem murmured.

"If you look close enough, if you stare and don't blink, the black and white look the same." He shivered. "But they're not the same!"

Rem sighed, "There is unity in your window. They aren't the same, but they are part of a whole."

"Can you understand darkness without light?" he questioned.

She laughed, "Vash, not everything is a symbol."

24. **Childish Ways**

The carefully constructed model of the proposed design alteration to the cryogenic monitoring unit was perfect in every way. The small, metal bits fit together seamlessly, shining under quicksilver lighting.

It sparkled. Vash's design specs didn't call for sparkling.

_ Knives is freakishly meticulous_, Vash decided. _Obsessive even_. The prototype, displayed openly on the table, reminded him of the time his brother had lined the _entire_ ship with dominoes.

He moved closer, hand nonchalantly leaned on the table. And then his hand was nonchalantly slipping against the table, as the weight unbalanced it.

**CRASH**

"Vash!! What did you break _this_ time?!"

notes: Okay, I've got lots of notes this time, apparently to make up for the utter lack of notes last time. Duality was yet another demonstration of the fact that, even though I don't think Vash has an Oedipus complex, I like pretending that he does! shrug I guess I just don't think he has _enough_ problems. Perfect Match is the example of why I'll probably never be able to write believable shounen ai. Did any of you _really_ think Vash and Wolfwood were doing anything remotely romantic in that one? No. I didn't think so. Ah, well. Maybe it's funny anyway. The further explanation on that one is a theory I swiped from Bethany (mentioned at her Wolfwood page, Cinders&Smoke) - that if you cut out Vash and Wolfwood's noses, they'll fit together with one upside-down. She said it doesn't work in reality, but that doesn't make for good drabbles, does it? Fate and  Symbolism are meant as companion pieces to each other. In fact, to me they occur simultaneously. They aren't listed that way because I can't bring myself to mess up the comedy:drama listing. In  Fetish I mention "handless gloves". Yeah. Most people would call them _sleeves_. Or _bracelets_. However, I always think of gloves as reaching to the elbow or farther (unless otherwise specified) and I seriously saw those somewhere once. So handless gloves are real, to me at least. And what's up with the alliteration in that one? Hmm, this particular group seems to have a lot of chibi-Vash and Knives. Why? Just obsessed I guess. 

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours. 

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	5. The sinister manus taught different unbe...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

25. **Lessons**

Finger jabbed into the book, facing down his brother's glare, Vash drew breath - and Rem laughed, cutting him off. Slightly sheepish, slightly shocked, he turned his attention back to her.

Philosophy lessons certainly were the most raucous.

Smiling, she took up her lecture once more, "I think that's enough of Aquinas and angels for today." Vash immediately pouted, eyes glistening and lower lip trembling. She ruffled fingers through spiky hair, skewing it, "We'll come back to it later.

"Knives, can you give me a definition of existentialism?"

He pondered her silently a moment before declaring with relish, "I alone exist."

26. **Unbent**

Wolfwood stared, scratching his head, "So . . . what is it?"

Vash's smile faltered for just a moment, "What do you mean what is it?"

The priest's hand circled vaguely, "What . . . is it?"

Exasperated, Vash thrust the object at his friend once more, "What does it _look_ like?"

Wolfwood shrugged.

"For Chrissake, it's a cigarette!"

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," admonished Wolfwood. Vash rolled his eyes. The dark haired man tilted his head at the cylinder, "Are you sure?" Vash growled.

Suddenly, Wolfwood snapped his fingers, "I get it!"

He snatched the cigarette from Vash and bent it in half.

27. **Mortality**

Sitting next to him - in her memory reliving that terrifying search, her panic in fading blue light - Meryl hated the angle of his hair. Rubble had cut her hands before she found him, blood a sacrament to her need. She hated that stain, the injured air of the once-city sizzling above it.

She remembered and she sat - head on his shoulder with ideal and impossible closeness. Not turning, not losing that red edge she could touch, she asked about the blackness.

He laughed a little, fingers she couldn't see reaching for his divided hair, "Why, to be more like you."

28. **Different**

Knives stalked past the group in a swift economy of motion. His hand compulsively smoothed blurred edge of maroon and white as he eyed his brother's companions disdainfully. The jaded priest and his vacant bride. It was almost worth a laugh. His brother and . . .

The lines of his body melted into a sudden, rippling stillness. His finger glided along her unwilling jaw, touching the tip of her chin to urge it upwards. Unwavering grey eyes flashed under scrutiny.

Malice and wonder in his gaze, Knives breathed to his brother, "She looks just like Her."

"No. She's much shorter," Vash defended.

29. **Sinister Manus**

The wall - cool and flat - felt faintly of worship, Legato knew. It was the rich taste of pain against his head as his Master tested his faith, and knelt before him. He wasn't worthy of that pure truthful man whose hands ran skillfully along his belt, tugging slightly.

He didn't deserve it - his Master pleasing him. His Master debased in front of him and wanting it so badly. Legato restrained a shuddering, tearful breath as His fingers brushed carefully across . . .

And touched his hand, left. He snatched it up, pressing a devoted kiss into it's palm.

"Don't cross your fingers."

30. **Brotherly Love**

"What?" Wolfwood gaped, hastily moving to snag the half spent cigarette that fell from his shocked mouth. Blowing on finger tips that received the burning end, he asked again for Vash to explain, "Say that again?"

"It's just as I said, it'd be like sleeping with my brother."

"You think of me like a brother?"

Vash shook his head, "No, I mean it literally. If you're telling me the truth, Knives screws Legato, Legato does Midvalley, and you're Midvalley's bitch."

"I wouldn't put it that way," interjected the priest.

"If I slept with you, I'd be sleeping with my brother."

notes: Oddly, I think I only have comments on one this time around. You're all pretty much used to my Oedipus complex thing and general strangeness. I presume everyone gets the history lesson from the first one, but it doesn't matter if you don't. However, the title to #29 needs a bit of explaining. It's a pun. In Latin. Why exactly haven't you guys beaten me to death for doing this crap I'll never know. Anyway. As you might guess, sinister means, well, "sinister." It can be unlucky, or, more loosely, evil. Manus means soldier. So one meaning is "evil soldier", an obvious reference to Legato himself. However, sinister also means "left" and manus also means "hand." Isn't Latin fun? Sometimes sinister also means lucky, so you can mix and match on the meanings to your heart's content.

And since I'm on a roll, I'll explain the last line of #29. I don't care if you understood it. Just call me Inez, k? Anyway, Knives tells Legato not to cross his fingers, a double reference. Firstly, not to keep his hopes up. Duh. Secondly, not to act like Vash. Seeing as how Vash's Love&Peace pose includes crossed fingers. But I'll bet you already knew that.

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	6. Despite appearences belief in the classi...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

31. **Classic**

Pressed and beautiful as the restaurant itself, Vash wasn't at all what she expected tonight. The date wasn't anything she had expected. No guns, no trouble, just that liquid gaze she could drown in joking and explaining odd bits of history.

Meryl leaned contentedly onto her palm. She didn't know why he chose such a seductive tone for Greek philosophers, but she couldn't deny enjoying the enthralling sparkle of his voice.

"Empedocles took a completely different stance, however. According to him, there were only two forces in nature," he smiled, catching her free hand for a kiss. "Love . . ."

"And Stryfe."

32. **Despite Appearances**

"Rem! Reeeem!"

The dark haired woman turned at the almost synchronized, breathless and extremely panicked young voices. Forms rather more elaborately clothed than usual streaked quite neatly past her, taking refuge in her shadow. Vash quite literally clung to her legs, half-hiding himself behind them.

She laughed, taking in the adorable dresses they'd been subjected to. Again.

Flustered, but quickly regaining himself, Knives pointed an accusatory finger at her, "I thought you said you were going to talk to Mary about this! We're not girls! It's embarrassing."

Vash nodded, smoothing his skirt primly, "And this color makes me look fat."

33. **Naming**

They had all gathered again on the bridge, taking a respite from the stress surrounding Steve's crime and judgement. Both Law and Mary were still twitching, so Rem had called them all together to hopefully return their minds to the light of the future that lay before them.

While the boys had claimed their seats in the front, the adults hovered behind the pair. The dusty planet they had celebrated before was once more on the screen.

"If it's going to be home, it needs a name," Rem asserted quietly.

Knives smiled, something secret in his eyes, "Why not . . . Eden?"

34. **Kin**

Watching Vash with the same resigned alarm that he traditionally reserved for his twin - that he'd created for his twin - Knives finally felt the need to voice his suspicion to his caretaker. His crystal eyes drifted from the sight of his brother sitting at the table with his legs demurely crossed beneath his dress and to the disconcertingly amused eyes of Rem.

"Rem, there's something I would like to ask you. I think I can handle whatever you say. And I need to know."

Irresistibly, his eyes again found Vash, taking ladylike sips of tea, "Vash is adopted, isn't he?"

35. **Belief**

The soft bed gave under the sleeping child's every breath, curving around a purpled face and helplessly curled hands. To either side the presence of his family embraced him, driving away the nightmares that often shuddered through his thin body.

Knives stroked his twin's long hair carefully, wistful expression on his fragile face, "I told him it would be alright. Did I lie?"

Rem shook her head, reaching out to still his hand. Hoping this once to consol him.

"I think I did," he whispered. "I'm not like you. And . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Can't what, sweetie?"

"Believe."

36. **Ska**

Vash wiped the sweat from his brow as the trombonist finished the final trills of the song. The crowd was faceless, flowing. Distilled humanity swaying and swinging to his song. It looked like all of Sky City had turned out, crowding into the flickering Rec Room for it's decommissioning.

But right now they were ignoring the precious technological trappings and looking only at him. It was glorious feeling.

Briefly, Vash thought that he could used to fame.

He grinned, taking a breath between sets, "Any requests?"

From several unsure locations came a layered, embarrassingly unified shout, "Take off your shirt!"

notes: Where to start? Where to start? Hmm. The beginning! Okay, the abuse of historical facts in Classic is indeed an abuse, since it is unequivocally true. As per always. So that once I've lulled you into a false sense of security, I can begin lying to you indiscriminately. What else? We know I'll use any excuse to make characters cross dress (if you didn't, you do _now_). Ska? Yeah. Okay. This is just a fangirlish fantasy on my part. So what if it's cheesy. I like Vash in a band. It amuses me. It doesn't matter if he can sing or not. The fans would go just to stare at him. Anyway, ska is a very fitting music for him - psychotically hyperactive, unswervingly truthful, oddly innocent, and occasionally quite biting.  


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	7. The typical flight of aqua angels was so...

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**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

37. **Aqua**

Color is an allegory. Dark and light. Emotion cold, and hot, and unyielding as day and me. For all to see but him.

Maybe it's irony, too, but I believe it's a description. Not a trite window to the soul. It's simple - real and ephemeral - and souls are dirty things of midnight comfort for the children of dead things.

Blue and green aren't opposite, more the same than shades and beautiful when blended.

Blue is for the cold. The dark and angry pulsing. Green is for the hot, the light.

My eyes are blue, not green.

And his are both.

38. **Solution**

Meryl smiled as he paused languidly in the doorway, fingers gripping molding's edge. Vash leaned cheerfully into the kitchen, almost hanging, enjoying the sight of her still sleep ruffled hair and clothes. And perhaps, the grumbling of the priest whose way he blocked.

He tossed off his lingering casually, eyes blind to anyone but her. A slide or another swift, graceful pace brought Vash's body in front of her, his hands to her neck and back.

With her usual gleam, Meryl kicked Vash in the shins and caught him in a kiss as he stumbled.

So much for height restrictions.

39. **Vanity**

The warmth of it, slick and sticky and sexy, dripped down his arms. The blood soaked into his plain shirt, his pants that were too dark to reveal it's color. In shifts of light they glowed that haunting crimson.

Vash stumbled back from the scene, eyes locked on his brother.

Knives chuckled slowly, "You're the one who gave me the idea, dear brother."

Even his eyes seemed purpled in the wet mayhem. Vash couldn't speak, his head shaking in desperate denial.

The elder twin drew a sensual hand through his hair, staining it, "After all, _you_ look good in red."

40. **Static**

Meryl hadn't really believed it the first time she'd seen it. Blinking, she'd just ignored the last of Vash's daily ritual - after all, it wasn't seeing him get _dressed_ that she cared for - and just turned her attention to tracking down that damned toothbrush that always seemed disappear from their joint possessions. She pretended that she hadn't seen the bright flame of electricity flickering around his hand to favor the utter normalcy of early morning.

But later, she couldn't deny it. Sucking on a finger bitten by static, she stared as him.

Vash shrugged, "It works better than hair gel."

41. **Angels**

The two men stood across from each other, close but separated by a numb void of white. They were silent, merely standing and studying and not really believing.

Finally, the dark one spoke, "I miss you."

His companion looked away, smiling sadly, "I thought that was my line."

He shrugged, fumbling for a cigarette, "Nah, you got the good end of the deal, remember? The Lord only gives me blurs, but you get to keep me with you anyway."

"Like smoke."

Wolfwood shrugged, "Yeah." His eyes drifted, tracing the image of something in that whiteness. A feather. "Tongari, you're shedding."

42. **Typical Flight**

_ That's odd . . ._ Knives frowned and tapped at the neon console in their little escape pod. He thought he had wiped all the unnecessary _human_ programming from the computer. Despite that, there was a message icon flashing in the corner of his desktop.

Stealing a glance at his twin, shivering and catatonic in the corner, the boy cautiously clicked on the icon. Wide-eyed, he stared. His eyes ran over the message again and he laughed.

A feminine voice recited mechanically over the speakers, waking Vash, "Please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in an upright and locked position."

notes: My addiction to endnotes is unhealthy, I'm sure. First off, I don't think I explained particularly well in Aqua, but I was trying to posit the theory that Vash and Knives actually have the same eye color. It's just that what's visible is predicated by emotion. Positive emotions are green and negative are blue. It's actually mostly true in the series. 

Was this the romantic issue or what? Two are blatantly VxM, one is slightly shounen ai-ish (for anyone who wants to take it that way), and one is almost KxV. 

To Emilee: I'll try to get some WxM in next time. Or possibly KxMilly. Which is just the cutest couple. Ever.  


Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours. 

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	8. The animus of his complex smile fleeced ...

drab

**drab·ble** (drab**´**'l) **_n_**. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title 

somewhat important thing to know: #48 is a sequel to Cashmere (#12)

43. **Animus**

Rem locked gentle eyes onto her young scholar, carefully considering how to answer his question, "It's something all creatures possess. The soul is beyond us and the very essence of us at the same time. Although everything flows, and life does fade from our bodies, the soul remains.

"The end of life does not end it's meaning. The truth of a person's life is carried on in the soul, which is immortal and pure."

"So death creates the soul?"

She bit her lip, "In a way. An end is only another beginning."

Knives' eyes gleamed, "What if you don't die?"

44. **Complex**

Knives' many quirks were, if not blatantly worshiped or accepted, largely ignored by the Gung-Ho Guns. Any other reaction had long ago been culled from their minds by Legato and his fierce yellow eyes.

But there was one that raised eyebrows. In a way, it made sense for one of Knives' kind. But Midvalley couldn't help wondering if his boss had a bit of a Lolita complex. Or a Shota complex. Like he could tell if they were different sexes.

And so it was, that no one was in the least surprised when Knives died.

Electrocuted "screwing in" a lightbulb.

45. **Smile**

It still hurt. A year, and it still hurt. Vash still awoke everyone morning expecting to see Rem, to see Knives - sane and well. A year.

No, it had been longer than that. Sometimes he forgot, it was so blurred, but they were older and they were separate.

Vash gazed out the port of Sky City, wondering if Rem was really dead. If he'd failed her. Tried to remember her words, that twisted in his heart like something unfulfilled

A little girl stared at him, and he jerked when she spoke, "Hey, mister! Smile!"

He closed his eyes, "I'm trying."

46. **Superior**

Legato stared at his Master. He was so beautiful. The blue-haired man again doubted the reality of the golden man standing before him. How could such a being of grace sully Himself with Legato's presence?

But how could his pathetic human mind even mimic Him?

No. It was no dream.

Knives turned slightly, glancing in the mirror and frowning, "Are you sure of this, Legato?"

Legato repressed the urge to drool. Knives looked marvelous, smooth and shimmering cruelty masked by softness, lace, and chiffon. The dress suited him well.

Yes, his Master was superior to dirty humans in _every_ way.

47. **Thing**

That single word. It defined everything he knew about humanity. All that he hated. Pathetic and needy and submissive. No meaning of it's own. Mutable simplicity that pretended so much more.

It was sacred on his lips. Divinity cool and sweet to taste because he knew what it meant. Shared it with one other person alone.

He didn't see. But he would. He'd know and whisper and scream that word hoarse with hatred. Label every human with that word.

Smile on elegant lips, Knives thought he might love that woman for her name. The word to name his enemy.

"Rem."

48. **Fleeced**

Wolfwood sprawled onto the bed, eyeing her woolen vest suspiciously.

Milly attempted to reach him once again, "But she said she had reason, Mr. Priest."

He huffed, punching an innocent pillow, "Yeah, that damned author always has a 'reason'." He narrowed his gaze at her, "But she didn't actually tell you what it was, did she?"

Large blue eyes filled with uncertainty, "She just said that it was 'fitting'."

"Ah. I get it." He pulled the brunette to him, "Wolves are always trying . . ."

She stared as he plucked at the buttons, murmuring around a kiss, "To get into sheep's clothing."

notes: Pop Quiz! Do you remember the Latin lesson from Syntax (_way_ back in the first set)? If you do, yay! If you don't, I'm going to point and laugh at you and make insinuations about your hygiene. And remind you, of course. Rem is a Latin word, the accusative singular form of res; literally thing. In this particular form it can only function as a direct object. It also had a bazillion other means, like all Latin words. So in #47 Knives is calling all of humanity a weak, indefinite, passive, _thing_. Isn't he a sweetheart? 

Other than that, this edition kinda (really!) sucked. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Knives-sama. You deserved better. If anyone actually read this, that is.

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